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<title>Thin Line Of Paracausal Immortality by adrift_me</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28410867">Thin Line Of Paracausal Immortality</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me'>adrift_me</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Old Light, New Light [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Destiny (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Romance, Scars, exploring a facet of guardian life that is scars, with a pinch of romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:26:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>471</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28410867</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The Crow does ask her once. “What scars do you bear, Old Light?”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>A small exploration fic about guardians, inner and outer scars with a pinch of romance.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Guardian/Crow, Guardian/Crow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Old Light, New Light [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Thin Line Of Paracausal Immortality</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you for checking this fic out :)</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://a-driftamongopenstars.tumblr.com/">Come chat with me on tumblr :) I also take prompts!</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Crow does ask her once. “What scars do you bear, Old Light?”</p><p>She takes a while to answer, plunging herself into thoughts for days in row. Her skin, flawless to every cell, is void of any scars. Not a stitch, not a red line, not a burn or scratch. Every time the Ghost breathes life into her, the Light takes away any notion of what makes one “old” and “experienced” to the unfamiliar eye.</p><p>Certainly, she thinks, some may choose to keep those relics of ancient life. The Drifter, for instance, would tell you many a story about this or that scar, and every time the story is new. You listen and you laugh and you mourn with him, but rarely does he show the scars that still hurt.</p><p>Those lie deeper than skin. Those cut into your very heart and mind. And what are centuries to an immortal being, charged with light and death every step?</p><p>She delivers that answer to Crow on a purple midnight as they watch the stars through a hole in the ceiling. It is a night of more than stargazing, and clothes lie thrown aside to let them bask in moonlight.</p><p>Her finger traces Crow’s chest as he sharply breathes at every craved touch.</p><p>He never did ask about scars that come from <em>before</em>.</p><p>A nasty ripple of skin, grafted together by time and light, sits above Crow’s heart. Her finger traces the circle around it, and even touch brings a bitter memory of Petra’s gun smoking as bullet put Uldren Sov’s life to an end.</p><p>The Crow doesn’t ask. He knows enough to understand that some scars would never go away, never heal, neither for him nor for others. So he doesn’t ask.</p><p>She touches his shoulder and the curve of his neck, the ends of black hair, brush behind his ear. Her fingertips trace down his muscled arms, down to forearms with intricate burns that feel unsettling. No black feathered wings to hide the Crow’s scars of the Black Garden either.</p><p>His hips she caresses too and his legs, cut in bristles of distant grass and duels and a life long gone.</p><p>“I fell off a building notch and hurt myself badly today,” he whispers. “When Glint revived me, I was new again.”</p><p>She nods. He guides her hand to where the wound would have been, and she strokes the smooth perfection of his skin, ripples of oily light washing over it in a dusty moonlight.</p><p>His eyes full of gold catch her gaze, silent.</p><p>“I understand your answer now,” he says quietly. “About scars. And I see what they don’t see. Right here, one.”</p><p>His hand rests above her heart.</p><p>What an odd analogy, she wonders, that his scar hurts not, but reflects off her heart in a dull, strange ache.</p>
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